Because You Are my Idiot, Ti Amo
by L-chan the Great
Summary: The love between Spain and Romano is complicated at best...  A fanfiction based off an RP about the love between a hopeless idiotic Spaniard and tsundere tomato-like Italian. Warnings for language, lemon, and Mpreg.
1. It's Not Stalking, Just Passing Through

**Based off an RP between me and Hipster Mustache. She came up with most of the plot... Ok, so pretty much all of it, and she also controlled nearly every character, minus Spain. She's an evil genius, I must say. All that I can claim are Spain's actions and the smoothing of the RP into a fanfiction! Hope you enjoy it as much as I did, and as much as I hope she did as well! If you like tragedy, or if you're an emotional masochist like me, then check out her Arrivederci, which is really sad and I loved it.**

**Anyway, I make no excuses for this story or its plot. What can I say? The two of us are just complete fangirls. Enjoy~!**

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><p>The sun beat down over Rome, filling the great city with its midsummer's heat. Spain just happened to be passing through at the time, and since he happened to be there anyway, he decided, 'Hey, while I'm just passing through Italy for no reason whatsoever, and not stalking at all, I should visit my little Lovi!'<p>

So, with that reasoning in mind, he made his way to Romano's house, and since he'd already happened to be in the neighborhood, he was there in a matter of seconds. The house stood tall and proud among the others, the strongest example of Roman architecture there was. Tourists were always surprised to find that the house was one of the more modern examples, the way it looked like it stepped right out of ancient times.

While Spain thought this was always a nice compliment, Romano always glared at the starry-eyed tourists, and if it was a man, Spain had to hold the Italian back before he could pound the tourist into the ground.

_"Are you saying my house looks old, bastardo?" he'd always scream._

_ "No, no, Lovi, they're saying they really like it!" Spain insisted, signaling to the tourist to start running, which they always did._

_ "Damn it, Spain, let go!"_

_ "But, Lovi, if you hurt your tourists you'll get sick, and Boss Spain doesn't want you to get sick!"_

_ "F-fine, bastardo! Just let go of me!"_

_ "Aw, Lovi, you look just like a tomato~!"_

Spain smiled fondly at the memory, even though it ended with Romano getting so embarrassed that he head butted Spain with a loud cry of "CHIGI!" But until then, it was a great memory!

Looking up and down the street, he didn't see any tourists out, so he figured there'd be no reason to be out front. After all, the only reason why he'd ever come in the front door would be because of Romano endangering the lives of his tourists. So this was a great opportunity to surprise Romano with a basket of tomatoes!

And since Spain hadn't thought of that while happening to make this not-premeditated visit to Rome, he figured a basket of Romano's own tomatoes would be the next best thing. So he slipped through the side gate to make his way to the large tomato fields in the back garden.

That was when he saw Romano, already in the fields, picking the ripest tomatoes and carefully setting them in a basket. Every now and then, he straightened his back to stretch a little and wipe the sweat from his face. He was wearing protective jeans, gloves, work boots, and a large straw hat that protected his face and neck from the harsh sun.

The sight sent Spain's heart racing at the cuteness of it all. He smiled in delight and began to race toward his adorable little Lovi, preparing to pounce in a gleeful hug.

Romano didn't even look up as the time of impact drew closer. "Bastardo, don't even think of it," he said, his voice sounding only slightly annoyed.

Spain noticed the basket of tomatoes and skidded to a halt. "Ah, L—Lovi! What a surprise!" he exclaimed trying to sound nonchalant. He snatched a tomato from the basket in an attempt to cover up his near-fatal (for the tomatoes) pounce.

The Italian glanced up at him, eyebrow raised. "So…" He stood up, deciding he had enough tomatoes. "What was it you came for?"

Trying to buy himself time, Spain took a large bite out of the tomato. He chewed slowly, savoring the delicious flavor of a homegrown tomato, straight from Italy. Romano's tomatoes were truly the best, even better than America's, who now used so many hormones on his fruit it was nearly tasteless. Romano refused to do so, preferring the all-natural tomatoes he grew without chemical help.

While he ate the tomato, he quietly appraised Romano. Bad idea. Romano was just too cute, holding that little basket of tomatoes, with that overly large-brimmed hat framing his face, lightly flushed from exertion. It took all of his self-control not to tackle the adorable Italian then and there. Only the sight of the poor little tomatoes stopped him.

"Oh, just passing by, you know?" he said finally with a smile.

Romano gave him a disbelieving look. "Right… You just happened to be passing by, right through my tomato field?" he asked, speaking in a sarcastic tone.

Spain gave a bright grin, completely missing Romano's sarcasm and thinking that he'd fooled the Italian. "That's right! Very smart, Lovi~!" he said.

Oh dios mio, he thought, why does Romano have to be so cute and tomato-like? It wasn't helping his self-control any. And those poor tomatoes…

Romano rolled his eyes, holding the tomato basket tightly. "Well, since you were 'passing on by', you can join me for dinner."

So… So cute… But the tomatoes… The… Wait, why wasn't he hugging Romano again?

The question just did it for Spain. Forgetting all about the tomatoes, he launched himself at Romano, engulfing the Italian in an enthusiastic embrace.

"Aw, que lindo, mi little tomate~! I'd love to join you for dinner~!" he exclaimed.

"Ack!" Romano cried, trying to support Spain and carefully dropping the tomato basket to the ground. He did so successful, and the freshly-picked tomatoes were saved. "What the hell? A simple 'yes' would suffice!"

"But, but… You're so cute, and you look just like a tomato, all blushing like that," he said. Flushing, blushing… They were all the same to him; all words that meant his tomate looked like, well, a tomato.

The Italian blushed heavily; carefully prying the over-affectionate Spaniard off and picking the tomatoes back up. "I am not a tomato, bastardo!" he said. Spain opened his mouth to speak. "And I don't resemble one either!"

Spain closed his mouth again, giving him an innocent smile. "Wasn't going to say that," he replied. They made there way over to the house.

"Uh-huh," Romano said in disbelief. He shook his head to dismiss the subject and moved on. "Anyway, Feli's over for dinner, too, so head upstairs and get cleaned up." They reached the house quickly.

Oh, Feliciano was over, too. Spain sighed. He'd been looking forward to being alone with Romano… Which he completely decided upon passing by, and of course did not influence said passing by in any way. Because that would be stalking, and Spain did not stalk.

"Is Feli cooking?" he asked.

Romano pulled off his boots. He nodded, walking inside and discarding his boots in some godforsaken corner of the room. Spain followed suit, although he placed his shoes neatly by the door, where he'd be able to find them again.

"He came over for a few days while they did some repairs on his house. Something about a grenade mishap." That certainly did sound like Feliciano. Italian grenades had all sorts of terrifying problems, and Spain was surprised that Germany was still letting Feliciano use them.

"Anyway," Romano continued on, "The Potato Bastard told him he should come here, because apparently he can't handle my little brother and decided to force his problems on me, that bastard."

Spain let out another sigh. He'd been looking forward to Romano's cooking (again, completely not premeditated at all). It made him feel like Romano was his bride… Er, husband he meant. Although he had to admit, Romano would make a cute little bride, all dressed up in a frilly white dress, and a garland decorating his auburn hair…

He quickly masked his disappointment with a grin, bolstered by the image of Romano wearing a dress. "There'll be plenty of tomatoes involved, si?" he asked, eyeing the basket.

Romano gave one of those small, rare smiles. "Si. Feli insisted on making past—of course, the bastard lives on it—and I told him he had to use extra tomato-y sauce, or the answer was no." He began to walk up the stairs to his room, evidently expecting Spain to follow.

Spain grinned, imagining the horrified look on Feliciano's face at the possibility he not be allowed to make pasta. "That's good~!" he chimed, followed Romano closely upstairs, never allowing too much space to separate him from his little tomato. Just in case he felt the urge to hug the Italian again.

Reaching his room, Romano began unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it off and tossing it into a corner, as he'd done with his boots downstairs. He didn't even give Spain a glance, who suddenly looked very red and very uncomfortable. The Spaniard quickly looked away, just in case Romano saw him staring and called him a pervert or pedo… Again.

"There's a bathroom in the hallway. I'm using the one in here," Romano explained, going into his bathroom. He began to close the door, then stopped and stuck his head out the door. "And pomodoro bastardo, if you touch anything in my room, I'll kill you," he added as an afterthought.

"I'd never do that!" Spain said, looking affronted. Of course he wouldn't touch anything, especially after the bruises he received last time he tried sifting through Romano's possessions.

Nodding in approval, Romano withdrew his head and shut the door, leaving Spain alone in his room.

Well then, Spain supposed he should go wash up then… He hesitated, giving one last longing glance at the now-closed door, before going down to the hall to the bathroom.

He found the indicated hallway bathroom easily. The only problem was, when he grasped the handle and jiggled it, he discovered that the door was locked. Frowning in confusion, he pressed his ear to the door. No sounds came from within the bathroom. He knocked on the door. "Hello, anybody in there?" he called inside. Still no answer. Strange. He knocked and called a little louder with the same results, before coming to the conclusion that the bathroom door was locked, and no one was inside.

Spain shrugged it off. Maybe Feliciano had accidentally locked the bathroom door behind him for something. He didn't dare to even think that it was Romano's fault the bathroom door was locked. The feisty little Italian would _murder _him _brutally _with the mafia of at least _three _countries (his tomate had some amazing connection) if he even _considered _Romano at fault for such a clumsy action.

In any case, he returned to Romano's room.

A sound floated out from behind the bathroom door. Curious, Spain got closer, pressing his ear to the door to hear better. In the background, there was the steady sound of running water, meaning Romano was taking a shower. Above that, though, Spain could hear the Italian singing an old Spanish lullaby with his rich, musical voice.

The lullaby sounded familiar, like… Spain's eyes widened slightly. Oh, it was a song that he used to sing to Romano when he was little, and too stubborn to admit he couldn't sleep. He felt touched that Romano would remember a song from so long ago and decided.

He sighed contentedly as Romano gently sang the chorus. The Italian had such a beautiful voice. He could listen to it all day.

As Romano's voice died down, and the background noise was shut off.

At first, this disconcerted Spain. What was that background noise again? Oh right, it had been the sound of running water. And since it stopped, that meant… Oh, right, it meant the shower was over. So Romano was done with the shower. Which meant that any minute now, the Italian would come out of the bathroom.

And see Spain standing right there.

That was when he realized that he was still standing in front of the bathroom door. If Romano came out now, he would surely see the Spaniard and call him a pervert or something. Quickly, Spain flopped down on the bed, thinking up his story for when Romano saw him and demanded to know why he was in the room and not changed yet.

Luckily, he moved away from the door just in time for it to open. Unfortunately, Romano came out muttering something about not remembering where he put his towel. So the Italian came out, dripping wet and completely naked. Spain's eyes widened slightly, and he felt like a deer caught in headlights. The one lucky thing about the sure-to-be-horrible situation was the fact that Romano was still looking in the bathroom, and hadn't seen the Spaniard sitting there yet.

He blushed furiously, fidgeting and trying to decide what to do in the next two seconds, or he was good as dead. Run out of the room, announce his presence, or… He decided rolling off the bed and, hopefully, out of sight was the best option. And hope Romano was deaf, as rolling off the bed appeared to make a loud thump when he put his plan in action. Who would have guessed?

At the thump, Romano looked over and narrowed his eyes. "Hm… That bastard Spagna is in the other bathroom… Must've been Gone with the Wind falling or something," he decided, finally locating his towel. He grabbed it and dried off, wrapping it loosely around his waist.

Spain continued using the conveniently placed ground to hide his face. If he couldn't see Romano, then Romano wouldn't bee able to see him. At least, that's how he thought it worked. He didn't know what Gone with the Wind was, but he thanked its existence for saving him from a terrifying encounter with the mafia.

Romano walked to the other side of his bed in search of his shirt, when, to his surprise, he nearly tripped over a conveniently placed idiot on his floor.

The Italian stared. "…Spain? What are you doing there? You're staining my floor with bastard. Time to get up," he said.

Spain looked up sheepishly. "Ah, hey Romano, how are you? I was just looking for, um, Gone with the Wind to, you know, borrow it!" he said, getting up. He really hoped Gone with the Wind was something borrowable, and not a large object that would give him away. His face was still slightly flushed, the image of Romano imprinted on the front of his mind.

Romano's left eye twitched. "It wasn't the book that fell, was it? It was you!" he said accusingly, pointing a finger.

Ah, so Gone with the Wind was a book? It was so cute that his Lovi enjoyed reading~! And was now getting red like a little tomato, too!

Meanwhile, Romano was getting increasingly worked up and embarrassed. "You... You saw me naked! You p—pervert! CHIGI!" And with that, the Italian ran from the room.

"Ah! Romano, wait!" He thought he'd been so clever with his excuse, too. He took off after Romano, immediately wishing he'd exercised a bit more lately, especially with Romano being an Italian, and genetically could be extremely fast when he wanted to be.

It was too bad that Gone with the Wind was a book, and Spain didn't read—a fact that Romano was well aware of.

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><p><strong>Did you know Romano read American literature. I didn't. :D<strong>

**Until the next chapter, ciao~!**


	2. SelfConfusion

**What, two in one day? Well, it's because the RP is over already, and I've got about 800+ messages on my phone. So, since I need to make room for the new RP we're doing, I need to write up this one as quickly as possible. So the updates will probably be rather rapid, except during school days, when I'm busy.**

**Hipster Mustache still has claim on this plot. I'm just responsible for some of the writing and the end scene. And the mushiness that is Spain.**

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><p>Damn, how could one little Italian be so much faster than him? Oh right, because he was an <em>Italian<em>. That was all the explanation necessary. It didn't make Spain feel any better.

"Lovi! Wait!" he called again.

Romano stopped at the stairs, glaring at him. "You pervert! What is it you want? Another flash?" he demanded.

Spain didn't know his face could get any redder, but the image Romano's words summoned did it. It didn't help that the Italian was still only wearing a towel around his waist; a fact the Spaniard confirmed when his eyes automatically glanced down to it.

He quickly looked back up to Romano's glowering eyes, waving his arms wildly. "No, no! I didn't mean to see anything, I swear! It was just a mistake!" he insisted.

Romano watched the Spaniard suspiciously. He blushed heavily as he forced himself to ask a question he knew he'd slap himself for later. "Did… Did you enjoy what you saw, at least, bastard?"

"Ah." Spain immediately began to fidget, not sure if this was a trick question or not. He looked everywhere but at Romano, feeling his cheeks prick with heat. He felt too much like a blushing schoolgirl, and if he had glanced at Romano, he would see that the Italian was in the same boat.

Finally, he nodded hesitantly, deciding honesty was the best policy here. "S—si," he admitted, unable to look Romano in the eye.

Romano elicited a small "Mhm" before turning and walking back to his room.

"Ah, Romano, wait." He wasn't sure what he wanted to say, but he didn't like the way things just hung in that air like that.

Romano turned back around, raising an eyebrow. "Si? I'm practically naked here, bastard," he said. As if to further prove his point, the towel slipped a little bit, revealing the curve of his hip.

Of his smooth, white hip… Spain shook his head to clear the dirty thoughts from his mind. He turned around quickly to hide the telltale blush blooming across his cheeks. "Ah, s—si! I'll wait!" he said, flustered.

He heard Romano snort in amusement before disappearing into his room. He reappeared a short time later, wearing loose shorts and a t-shirt. Spain was relieved that the Italian was finally dressed.

"Let's walk downstairs. Come on, walk and talk," Romano commanded, motioning for Spain to follow, which he did. "So, what is it you want?"

Spain tried to cool his blush before Romano looked over and noticed it. "Just that, you looked very good, you know," he said, thinking of Romano's extremely low self-esteem.

Then he realized how perverted what he said was, and immediately tried to correct it. "Ah, I mean, not that I really want to see it again."

He winced. That was even worse. "I mean, I do want to! But, I mean… Oh dios mio, what do I mean?" His voice trailed away, and he was left trying to sort through his own words, having stumped himself.

Romano, on the other hand, didn't know whether to be happy or angry as hell. He decided on both. "Well, dammit, I'm glad you liked what you saw, but sorry you never want to see it again! Did it horrify you that much?" He had stopped halfway down the stairs to turn and yell at the Spaniard.

Spain winced. Did what he said really come out that badly? "No, no, Lovi! It didn't horrify me at all! I was just… Just, um… I don't know, um…" His voice died away. He didn't know what to say in this situation that _wouldn't _be the wrong thing. So he just slammed his mouth shut before anything else could spill out.

Romano sighed. Spain would always be the ditzy Spaniard he was, but that was the Spain he'd fallen in love wi—

"What?" he exclaimed, surprised by where his train of thought had been headed. Him, in love with Spain? That was ridiculous, so he'd quickly cut off the treacherous thoughts. He was even more surprised to find that his exclamation had come out as a real sound.

Spain jumped, thinking Romano was mad at him. By now, he felt thoroughly confused. "I, er, I'm… I'm sorry." He settled for an apology, hanging his head in resignation.

Romano stared at the Spaniard for a moment, and then started down the stairs again. "We should go to dinner now, si? We'll continue out discussion in my room after," he said.

The statement, said innocently enough, brought a multitude of mental images to the forefront of Spain's mind. He blushed lightly as he struggled to keep them in check. The suggestion was innocent, he was sure. After all, Feliciano was here, and it was the type of conversation to be held in private, so it made since to talk about it in Romano's room, away from curious ears.

He nodded, mostly to himself in agreement with his logic.

"Si, let's go eat the extra tomato-y pasta~!" he said brightly, reverting to his cheerful self.

Dinner would have been a slightly awkward affair, if it hadn't been for the extra-talkative Feliciano. While Spain and Romano sat, side-by-side, Spain blushing like mad, and Romano trying not to remember that Spain had seen him naked, Feliciano chatted to the two about mundane things.

"So, Germany and I are going to start using non-Italian grenades now, since this is the fifth time I destroyed his house in a month," Feliciano said, pausing to give Romano time to answer.

All Romano could do was make a strangled sound as Spain's leg accidently brushed against his. The table was only big enough for two people, so Spain and Romano were much too close.

Feliciano took the noise and proceeding blush as a noise and flush of anger, resulting from his brother's hatred of Germans. "Ve, fratello, don't be so mean! Germany was really nice about it. He said even though it's great to have such nationalistic pride for your nation as to use its defective equipment, it's not so great to destroy someone's house and nearly kill everyone in it," he explained.

"Th—that's nice, Feli," Spain managed to say without hearing the younger Italian. He was too distracted by the way he always bumped into Romano every time he moved to eat the pasta. He barely even tasted the food.

"Is the pasta good, Spain nii-chan?" Feliciano asked, looking up at the Spaniard with large, hopeful eyes.

Spain took a rather large bite of pasta, nodding vigorously. Romano glared and punched the Spaniard's arm.

"Oi, bastard, don't take such huge bites, don't you have any manners?" he demanded.

Spain rushed to swallow the food so he could answer Romano, but he only succeeded in choking on his pasta. He coughed, pounding at his chest.

Feliciano jumped up, shrieking at the sight. "Ve, Spain nii-chan! Are you ok?" he cried, rushing around the table to the Spaniard's side.

Said Spaniard fell off his chair. He shook his head, still thumping his chest. Romano stood as well, half from worry and half to prevent himself from being taken down as well.

"Fratello! Spain nii-chan is dying!" Feliciano wailed.

"Sh—shut up! He's just choking!"

"He's dying! He's dying!"

Somehow, between the choking Spaniard, Feliciano wailing and clutching at his brother, and Romano trying to help while being weighed down, the choking crisis was averted, and Spain did not, in fact, die.

After that, dinner was silent. When Feliciano finished eating, he went upstairs to his own room (after making Spain promise that he wasn't going to die overnight). Romano sighed in relief.

"Finally, that's over," he muttered, standing up. "I'll be waiting in my room, bastard," he said, without any real malice. With that, he disappeared upstairs, knowing the Spaniard would follow up shortly.

Spain cleared off the table, but he decided the dishes could be left for the morning. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself before going upstairs as well. It's just a talk, it's just a talk, it's just a talk, he told himself over and over. It didn't help his heart any, the way it was currently trying to brutally break out of his chest, like it wanted to race Spain to Romano's room. He looked down at his chest and glared at it to calm down. Surprisingly, it didn't listen, and beat even harder than before, until it was almost painful.

Stupid heart.

When Spain entered the room, he had to freeze in the doorway. The sight that awaited him was… drool-worthy. Romano was wearing a tight, black nightdress with lace trim. It didn't quite cover the Italian's bare legs. He sat on the bed, his legs crossed.

Romano coughed lightly under Spain's appraising stare. "Sorry, it was all I could find," he apologized.

Spain wasn't sure where to look, although admittedly looking at Romano was the highly preferable choice. After a short battle with himself, he settled his eyes on the Italian. "It's fine," he said. "It's cute. Um, I mean, cute in a manly way! Si, in a manly way," he babbled, nodding his head earnestly, not quite understanding his own words.

The Italian stood up, coughing. He didn't know whether to feel pleased or uncomfortable with the way Spain's eyes fixed on his every movement. "It was a gift from an old boyfriend. A—anyway," he continued, "I'm confused. You liked what you saw, but you never want to see it again?"

Even though Spain anticipated this, it didn't make him feel any less embarrassed. He tried not to stare at Romano as he ran through a quick list of options in his head. One, jump Romano; two, ask about old boyfriend; or three, try to explain himself. Since option one was likely to get him killed and he'd already forgotten about the old boyfriend, thus unable to do option two, he decided to go with option three.

"Ah, that's really not what I meant. I just… Ah, I do want to see it again, but I, um, I…" He couldn't string together coherent thoughts anymore, let alone words, so his voice trailed away.

Romano blushed deeply at the Spaniards words. He nodded shakily. "It's… fine, bastard," he said. Then he changed the subject, not sure if his blood vessels could take anymore blushing.

"Say, would you like to sleep with me tonight?"

He'd meant it as in like before, for old times sake. Realizing how awkward the question sounded, he blushed, but didn't bother to correct himself.

It probably would have been a lot easier on Spain if he had corrected himself. Spain's mouth hung open as he tried to process what Romano said. Sleep, as in… No, Romano wouldn't initiate something like that without blushing heavily, and looking like a cute little tomato (if he was looking at Romano, he would have noticed that the Italian _was,_ in fact, blushing heavily). He decided the innocent interpretation was wisest, and least hazardous to his health.

"S—si," he said, trying to quell his overworked heart.

Romano nodded and climbed into bed. "Good night, then, bastard," he said. Wiggling until he found a comfortable spot beneath the blanket, he immediately fell asleep.

Spain gazed at Romano's sleeping face for a while, hardly able to believe how quickly the Italian fell asleep. It was so cute and innocent, reminding him of when Romano was little. A light flush painted the sleeping nation's cheeks, although he had no idea what could have caused it—unaware that Romano had been just as flustered as Spain was. The picture was an endearing one, that pulled at Spain's heartstrings, and gave him the urge to write song after song dedicated to the adorable Italian (even if he'd hurt Spain for the embarrassing songs).

He sighed fondly, brushing back Romano's hair, taking care to avoid the curl. Avoiding it was more of a habit, really, than a conscious effort. Romano would always get so angry whenever Spain accidentally brushed that little strand of hair. So, after a while, he noticed that Romano started groaning, and got really red, whenever something touched the curl. Afraid that Romano got a fever for some reason each time the curl was touched (a conclusion Spain always meant to ask about, but never got around to), Spain forced himself to avoid the curl at all costs.

Getting into the bed next to the Italian, Spain pressed a light kiss to his forehead. Checking to make sure Romano was fast asleep, and wouldn't wake up, he settled down by his side.

"Te amo, mi tomate," he breathed. It felt really good to say that. He'd been feeling his heart grow a soft spot for his former henchman. At first it worried him, especially when people called him a pedophile. Then, he realized that nations truly were different from humans, and age was essentially irrelevant.

In any case, Spain and Romano weren't really that far apart in age. Both were raised by Grandpa Rome for varying lengths of time. They just grew at different rates; Romano remaining the size of a small child long after Spain was a full-grown man. At least now they were about the same age, so the guilty feelings of loving a child disappeared when the child became a young man.

Content with himself, Spain fell asleep as well.

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><p><strong>The ending's new. :) Really new, as in, even my dear RP friend hasn't seen it until now. Don't you all feel special?<strong>

**Until next time, ciao.**


	3. You Just Lost the Game

**I really need to write faster. My phone is going to die from all the text messages from this RP, and we've already done so many more.**

**If I start writing RusMano, please blame HipsterMustache. Actually, I know I'm going to write it. 20 one-shots to be precise. But not yet. That can wait.**

**Anyway, I put a lot of extra stuff that wasn't in the RP here. Because I love you all so much. :D But the plot still belongs to HipsterMustache. I'm just a slave to her plot bunny farm.**

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><p>The morning sun poked through a hole in the curtains, landing directly on Spain's face. Even with the annoying light, the Spaniard would have been able to just sleep the day away, ignoring the warmth on his skin. What woke him up was a different kind of warmth entirely.<p>

He sleepily opened his eyes, surprised to find Romano pressed up against him. A blush bloomed across his cheeks, but he didn't push the Italian away, just in case it woke him up, and then started yelling at Spain, calling him all kinds of horribly embarrassing names.

Anyway, he rather liked cuddling with his Lovi like this.

Romano groaned in his sleep, burying his face into the Spaniard's chest and breathing softly. Spain froze, afraid that he'd woken up the Italian. When Romano settled back against him, he relaxed.

But, ah, this proximity was killing him! He wanted to hug Romano so tightly to his chest that the Italian would be smothered by the force of the love Spain felt for him. Romano was extremely cute this morning, seeming to accept the cuddling in his sleep, and it was driving Spain nuts. What if Romano woke up? Would Romano hurt him if he found the Spaniard cuddling up to him like this? Spain was torn between waking Romano up, and cuddling with him. After a short mental battle, he happily chose the second option.

Spain sighed contentedly, happy that he was able to cuddle with Romano without getting beaten up or yelled at or ran away from. It reminded him of when Romano was younger, unable to sleep from some fear of the large, empty house, and would come into Spain's room and crawl into bed. It was obvious that Romano would always try to slip in quietly, but Spain was always awake, waiting for when he knew the Italian would try to sneak into bed with him.

_"Ah, can't sleep, Roma~?" Spain asked softly, like he did every time Romano entered the room._

_ Even in the darkness, Spain could see the bright red flush tint Romano's cheeks, a beacon of embarrassment. "N—no! I can sleep perfectly well, bastard!" he said stubbornly._

_ "What are you doing in here then?"_

_ Romano always knew that Spain was pulling his leg (metaphorically, of course, when he wasn't literally pulling his curl). "B—Bastard!" he muttered under his breath, before saying his normal excuse. "I just thought you were lonely, or something! So I decided to do something nice and keep you company! Yeah, I'm just that great, so you should thank me, pomodoro bastard!"_

_ Spain laughed, as he always did. "Gracias, Lovi! I really was lonely~!" he said, humoring the little half-nation._

_ Then he'd scoop the tiny Italian into his arms, ignoring his protests, insisting that this was the only way he'd be able to sleep peacefully._

_ And then he sang to Romano. It was always some Spanish lullaby that Spain would softly sing. Sometimes, when Romano knew the words, the Italian would add his higher-pitched voice to the tune, humming when the lyrics escaped him. They would sit like that until Romano fell asleep, and Spain would cuddle up to him until he fell asleep as well._

Spain sighed fondly, remembering all the times they cuddled like this. He was tempted to sing as well, just to intensify the nostalgia, but decided against it. After all, the sound of his voice could wake the Italian, and then the spell would be broken. So he lay there silently, his arms securely wrapped around Romano, breathing softly in time with Romano's breath. He decided he should sleep over more often.

Romano blinked open his eyes, not removing his face from Spain's chest. It was so warm, and nostalgic. He breathed in deeply. No doubt, when Spain noticed he was awake, the idiot Spaniard would get flustered again, and shoot away from him, apologizing profusely about every little thing, from touching him to the color of wallpaper that _Romano _had chosen. It was ridiculous how oblivious Spain was to his obvious l—l—love for him.

He blushed at the thought. That was the first time he admitted to himself that the feelings he felt for Spain were more than platonic. Somehow, Romano had fallen for the idiot.

Merda. Just his luck.

So, while he was there and newly aware of his feelings for said idiot, Romano decided to pretend to be sleeping, just so he could prolong this wonderful feeling of being held by the one he loved. He sighed in his 'sleep' and cuddled closer, his wide, goofy smile hidden by Spain's chest.

And since Spain was an idiot (which was ok, because at least he was _Romano's _idiot), he didn't notice that Romano was awake (of course), thinking that the Italian was cuddling in his sleep. To be fair, he was positive that if Romano was awake, the Italian would attack him, and he'd have the mafia all over his ass in a matter of seconds. So he enjoyed the cuddle-time while he could.

"Oh, Lovi~," he sighed happily, still drowsy.

Romano blushed at the words, and suddenly realized just how close they were. It made him both excited and nervous at the same time. "Mhm," he murmured in acknowledgement that he'd heard Spain. That way the bastard wouldn't think he was still asleep.

But of course, while Spain heard the response, he decided that he was just imagining it (idiot). There was no way that Romano would consent to being held like this, he assured himself. So, thinking Romano was _still _asleep (idiot, idiot, idiot), he pressed his lips to the top of Romano's head—a feather-light kiss.

When Romano felt the kiss, he blushed. He decided that now was as good a time as ever to confirm his awareness of _every __**single **__**thing **_that was going on.

"Good morning," he murmured into Spain's chest, feeling him stiffen slightly in surprise.

Spain quickly relaxed, but felt embarrassed that he was caught doing such a shameful thing of kissing Romano in his sleep. "Ah, good morning, Lovi. Did you sleep well?" he asked. He remained where he was, however, cuddling Romano. Since it was apparent that's what he was previously doing, he decided to just milk it out for as long as he could.

To Spain's utter surprise, Romano didn't kill him. Instead, he blushed (an action he couldn't see anyway) and muttered, "Lemme go…"

He only regretfully released Romano, but obstinately remained nearly pressed up against him, making no moves to put distance between them. That stubborn bastard, Romano thought. Spain could have done back-flips of joy when Romano didn't seem inclined to move either, continuing to breathe softly into Spain's chest. And he honestly would have done so, but unfortunately that would put distance between the two, and Spain wasn't really looking forward to that.

But alas, all good things have to come to the end. That day, they decided to come to the end in the form of Spain's stomach deciding to rumble loudly. Both nations jumped at the sudden noise. He sighed, mentally cursing his stomach. He would have glared at it as well, but Romano was still between him and his stomach, and Spain didn't want Romano to think _he _was the recipient of the glare. That would just ruin the remainder of the mood that his horrible-timed appetite shattered.

"Maybe we should start breakfast before Feli wakes up. And then we'd have to eat pasta again!" he sighed dramatically. That was the problem with Feliciano. Too. Much. Pasta. And Spain didn't even like pasta very much to begin with.

"Sure, bastard. You make it. Tomato omelets," Romano ordered, drawing another sigh from Spain. Now his Lovi's cute mood was gone, too, all because of his stomach!

Well, he _was _a nation, so maybe it'd be fine if he got it surgically removed.

Then he thought about all the tomatoes he wouldn't be able to eat without a stomach, and rejected the idea faster than Feliciano rejected non-gourmet food.

Oh well, he might as well be happy about doing something for his cute little Lovi, right?

"Sure thing, Lovi~! I'll use the fresh tomatoes you picked yesterday, si?" Spain chimed, getting up from the bed. He immediately decided that getting up had been a bad decision. He already missed the warmth of the bed and cute, cuddly Romano warming it.

Romano nodded, getting up as well, feeling the same as Spain had just two seconds before. "Si. I'll be in here changing, idiot. If you want to stay alive, you'll stay out!" and then he shoved the Spaniard out, slamming the door.

Speaking of changing… Looking down at his wrinkled clothes, he realized that he hadn't brought any clothes over, since he hadn't planned on spending the night. He knocked on the door. "Hey, Lovi~! Can I borrow some clothes?" he called. Even though Romano was shorter than him, whatever clothes he gave Spain would work for the time being. Until he could go home to get a change of his own.

Romano opened the door and poked his head out. It was obvious from his bare shoulders that the Italian was at least shirtless, a fact that Spain tried really hard not to think about.

"Maybe… But you better return them pomodoro bastardo," he said, as if he was suspicious of Spain's reliability.

Which Spain thought was completely ridiculous. After all, it was only that _one time _that Spain lost Romano's shirt. It wasn't his fault, either. He had borrowed the shirt to go to a party with France and Prussia, since he hadn't done laundry in a while. The next morning, Spain had woken up, still in the house where the party was held, and the shirt was missing. He didn't have any idea _why _it was gone, but he suspected it had something to do with France, who was fast asleep and using Spain's stomach as a pillow. Spain hadn't found the shirt anywhere, so went back to Romano's house with the promise that he would pay for a new one.

Romano definitely hadn't been happy with that alternative. He said it was a custom-made dress shirt, which Spain wasn't sure what that meant, but he knew it was definitely something to be upset about. If the bruises he received for losing it was any indication of that.

The next week, Spain had seen France wearing a shirt suspiciously similar to the one he lost. But he knew there was no way that it was Romano's. It had to be a coincidence. After all, he was sure that there was no way it was a one-of-a-kind shirt. Just custom-made was all, which he assumed meant 'very very expensive'. So he didn't mention it to Romano.

In any case, that one incident was no reason not to trust him!

"Ah, gracias, Lovi!" Spain said as Romano thrust a small pile of clothes through the door at him. "I promise I'll return them!"

"You better, bastard," Romano said, and slammed the door.

"Gracias~!" he said again, taking the clothes and beginning to walk down the hall.

And then he remembered that the hallway bathroom was locked. He frowned, trying to think of a solution to his problem. Using Romano's bathroom was obviously not going to happen…

"Oh, maybe Feli will let me use his!" he said, proud of his quick problem-solving skills. He turned and started walking in the direction of Feliciano's room, humming an old Spanish tune.

Feliciano was walking (well, skipping was a more accurate term to describe the bouncy stride of the Italian) down the hall. He smiled brightly when he saw Spain. "Ve~! Hi, Spain~!" he greeted.

Spain smiled at the cheerful little Italian. "Hola, Feli~!" he greeted. "The hallway bathroom is locked, so could I use yours?"

Feliciano nodded happily, grabbing the Spaniard's hand and tugging him to his room. "Of course! Right over here!"

"Gracias, Feli~! I'm going to make some delicious tomato omelets for breakfast. Do you want some?" he asked as Feliciano led him to the room.

"Hm… I'd rather have pasta, but that sounds okay!" Feliciano admitted, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Ahaha, is that so?" Spain had no idea how someone could live solely off of pasta like Feliciano did.

Taking the response as a serious question, Feliciano nodded. "Si~!" he replied, opening the door to his bathroom. "Well, here you go! Ve~."

The younger Italian definitely was airheaded. Spain was glad that Romano wasn't like that. "Gracias again!" he said, going inside and locking the door behind him.

Once inside, he examined the clothes that Romano had given him. The shirt had probably been a loose-fitting t-shirt on Romano, but on Spain it was just a little too tight, with some strange Italian logo on it. The pants were worn, casual slacks (almost Capri's on him, Spain realized with a blush). Examining the boxers, Spain discovered a large tomato sewn on right over the crotch.

He blinked at the boxers. How very… strange. Not that he minded it was a tomato though…

Oh wait, he had to make breakfast, he remembered. He hurried to change, finished with his inspection of the clothes, and burst through the bathroom door.

"Ah, Spain! I'm going to go visit Germany, so don't make breakfast, ok?" Feliciano said as Spain rushed by him to get out of the room and downstairs.

"Sure thing, Feli!" Spain called without looking back, nearly tripping over the stairs.

He made it down safely. Romano was already downstairs, sitting on the couch and playing some game on his phone. He must've lost because immediately a string of colorful curses sprung from him.

Spain made it downstairs just in time to hear Romano's… expressive language. "Ah, did you lose the game, Lovi?" he asked, quite innocently.

Romano looked up, eyes narrowed, muttering something about the mafia. It must have been a very important game. He wasn't sure why Romano was suddenly so mad. After all, nothing he said could have possibly made him lose the game. The thought was completely ridiculous.

Still, he figured he should still apologize.

"Ahaha, sorry, I thought you were done. Sorry if I broke your concentration," he apologized with a nervous laugh.

Romano returned to the game as Spain retreated into the kitchen, but gave up moments later, concentration lost. "I'm hungry! Che palle…" he called into the kitchen.

"Be patient, I'll be done really fast~!" Spain promised, quickly getting started on the omelets. Delicious tomatoes for his cute little tomato~! He thought, imagining how adorable his Lovi looked when his face got red like a tomato.

As if on cue, Romano walked in, blushing a deep red.

"Aww, Lovi, you look like a tomato~!" he exclaimed, momentarily distracted from cooking. The thought that _why _Romano was blushing never even crossed his mind.

Romano walked over and yawned. "I'm going out after breakfast, bastard. I'll be gone all day," he said.

Spain frowned. "Where are you going?" he asked, feeling disappointed that hi visit had to end so soon.

The Italian regarded him in silence for a few moments. "… out," he said finally. "You can stay the night again if you want. I guess…" He looked away, blushing.

Spain smiled and returned to his cooking. "Ok, I'll wait for you to come back home, si?" He was still curious where Romano was going that he didn't wasn't the Spaniard to find out, but he figured that it was no big deal. If it was important, he was sure Romano would say something.

Romano nodded. "I'll be back for dinner," he promised.

"Ok~! I'll make a special paella for your return~!"

After breakfast, Romano went out, with Spain eagerly awaiting his return. He went back to his house to get a change of clothes, since he was spending the night again. On his way back, he stopped at various markets to get the right ingredients for the paella. When he got back, he picked more fresh tomatoes from Romano's garden, since the basket from the previous day was running low by now.

Finally, the paella made, he waited patiently for Romano's return.

And waited, and waited.

Soon, he began to worry.

Especially when it was nearly midnight and Romano still hadn't returned as promised.

* * *

><p><strong>OMG A CLIFFHANGER! Sorry about that... It needed to happen.<strong>

**Yes, Romano really did lose the game in our RP. I felt like a genius for it! Please don't hate me for making you guys lose it, too. *shot***

**But, yeah, next chapter the rating it going to go up. Because... Well, you'll see.**


	4. Ti amo, Te amo

**Phew, finally got around to finishing this chapter! If you didn't notice, the rating got moved to M, for obvious reasons. Please enjoy!**

**I should warn you all now... This is going to have Mpreg in it. I'm sorry if you don't like that kind of thing, but please give it a chance. That's where a lot of fluff and humor comes in.**

* * *

><p>"You haven't heard from him at all? Not even a call, or a text message, or anything?" Spain asked desperately, pacing back and forth while talking on the phone. It was a wonder he hadn't worn a path right into the tiles from all the walking he'd done these last few house.<p>

"Ve, no. I don't think fratello would come to Germany's house though… Is something wrong with you and fratello? Did you get into a fight?" Feliciano's sleepy voice asked.

Spain quickly thought back over the past two days, but other than accidentally seeing Romano naked, he hadn't done anything _too _bad to piss the Italian off. "No, nothing like that," he said.

"Oh, I hope fratello's alright, ve…" Normally, Spain was sure that Feliciano would be rushing out the door in search of his missing brother. Right now, the younger Italian sounded way too exhausted to make any proper reaction. Which was understandable, since it was midnight.

It was always why Spain was so worried. Romano had promised to be home in time for dinner, but it was obviously long past dinner.

"Don't worry, Feli. I'll call you tomorrow if he shows up. If he doesn't… Oh, dios, I hope he does," Spain said, chewing his bottom lip in worry.

Feliciano paused as if trying to think of something more to say. Finally, his tired state seemed to get the best of him. He sighed lightly (or yawned, Spain couldn't tell over the phone). "Si, please tell me if he comes home. Buona notte, big brother Spain. Ve…" he said.

"Buenas noches, Feli," Spain said, and hung up.

He set his phone carefully on the counter and stared hard at it. Maybe if he looked at it long enough, Romano would call him, telling him that he was stuck in traffic or something. Then Spain would reassure him, and say that everything was fine, while Romano cursed about everything from the perfectly clear skies to the pedestrians not even in the street.

That didn't happen though, and Spain was left running through a list of nations that Romano would possibly visit this late. It was a short list of only two nations: Feliciano and Belgium. He'd already called Feliciano, and Belgium lived with Holland, whom Romano was extremely afraid of. Not that it was saying much, since Romano tended to be afraid of a lot of nations that weren't Spain, Feliciano, and Belgium.

Either way, that left Belgium out of the picture, and Spain couldn't think of anyone else that Romano would go to.

He was still straining his brain, trying to think of anywhere Romano could possibly be that didn't involve the Italian being kidnapped, murdered, beaten, and/or tossed in a ditch. That proved to be remarkably _difficult _to do, since the only reasonable explanations for Romano's absence _were_ him being kidnapped, murdered, beaten, and/or tossed in a ditch. But Spain blamed that on his lack of imagination. He was sure there were a _million_ other reasons why Romano was missing.

Like… Like…

Like maybe Romano saw a sale for this awesome tomato-patterned bedding. And maybe if you bought the bedding, you'd get a free set of tomato-patterned curtains.

That would explain everything~!

Or not, Spain thought, continuing his frenzied pacing and lip-chewing.

Just then, he heard the door open. His heart jumped. _Lovi_, he immediately thought, but he froze in place, too afraid to be let down to go see for himself if Romano had finally come in.

His fears were put to rest when the familiarly curse-fond voice called out, "Oi, bastardo! Where are you?"

That was all Spain needed to spur him into action. Nearly stumbling in his rush to get to the other room, he shot out of the kitchen, with every intention of launching himself at Romano.

When he did, his momentum nearly knocked both of them over. Spain caught himself—and Romano—just in time. Romano cried out in indignation, lightly shoving the Spaniard away.

"Hey, get off of me, bastardo," Romano demanded in a slightly… slurred voice?

Spain obliged, confused by the Italian's obvious slur, and took a better look at Romano.

Romano's appearance was in complete disarray, a state that was nearly non-existent for the fashion-conscious man. His hair stuck up in odd places, and even his curl was bent out of place. The Italian's shirt was on backwards (upon closer inspection, Spain realized that the buttons weren't buttoned up from their current position on Romano's back), and the fly of Romano's designer jeans was only zipped halfway up. On second glance, Spain noticed a strange dusting of white powder in certain spots over the jeans.

"Romano… What happened? You look…" He wrinkled his nose. "You smell awful."

It was true. Now that he took the time to inspect Romano, Spain discovered that the Italian smelled like a horrible mix of alcohol and… And… He could barely bear to think it, but Romano smelled strongly of sex.

Romano waved his hand in dismissal of Spain's worries, the movement unbalancing him and causing him to sway dangerously. Spain inched closer, ready to catch Romano if he fell.

"Nothing happened," Romano said with a hiccup. "I'm fine!"

It was very obvious that Romano was _not _fine. Spain creased his eyebrows in a combination of suspicion and worry. "Are you drunk, Romano?" he asked sternly. "Where'd you go?"

Romano only laughed, nearly falling over again as he did. Spain jumped forward to steady him. But Romano only waved him off, unnaturally good-humored.

"Nowhere, just went out with some friends! And…" He trailed off, pulling a tiny plastic bag from his pocket. Spain's eyes widened when he saw it was halfway filled with white powder. Romano giggled, unaware of the horrified look on his former caretaker's face. "It's really good. Want some?"

"Romano!" Spain exclaimed, snatching the bag away from the Italian. He tossed it down on the couch, making a mental note to dispose of it _extremely soon_.

The Italian made a disappointed cry at the loss of the bag, but Spain ignored him. Instead, he fixed Romano with a stern glare. "That stuff is really bad for you. Don't you remember what happened to China?" he said.

Just the thought of the Opium Wars, which allowed England to completely use and exploit China with their addictive little drug, made Spain shudder. He couldn't imagine the same thing happening to his poor little Lovi. Romano had enough dangers with being used _without _the help of addicting drugs.

Romano, on the other hand, appeared to be unaware of the seriousness of using drugs. He only nodded excitedly, pulling his shirt off (with difficulty, seeing as the buttons were on the back). "I had fun tonight…" he said, with a yawn.

Spain looked away, startled out of his serious state by Romano's actions. He immediately became more sheepish, feeling suddenly awkward around the Italian. "What did you do? Who did you go out with?" he asked. The rug was so interesting at this time of night. It was so flat, and rug-ish, and _not _Romano's amazingly smooth bare chest. He blushed slightly as his mind summoned a mental image in place of the real thing. Damn rug…

Romano hiccupped again. "My ex-boyfriend!" he chirped, so happily that Spain winced, who regretted he even asked. The Italian continued on, unaware of the pain it caused Spain. "He invited me out for drinks, and the next thing I know, we're in his bed! Weird, huh?"

Spain froze. Just the way Romano said it, so nonchalant and oblivious to Spain's feelings, tore him up inside. Jealousy ate at him, and he was tempted to go beat up this ex-boyfriend who messed around with his Lovi. He clenched his fists, unashamedly encouraging the fury building up inside of him.

And then he remembered.

Romano wasn't his. It wasn't like the two of them were dating or anything. The Spaniard clenched his fists even tighter, fighting the bitter regret the reality of the situation brought. Romano _wasn't _actually his Lovi. The Italian could do whatever he wanted, and Spain couldn't do anything to stop it. No matter how much he wanted to…

Finally, he sighed heavily. As much as it hurt, he had to resign himself to the fact that Romano probably would never he his. "Maybe you should go to bed now," he suggested quietly, remembering that Romano was drunk, high, or both.

Romano nodded a bit, shuffling up the stairs and disappearing into his room. Spain watched him go with a heaviness in his heart that hadn't been there an hour ago. He realized that he didn't really want to stay here anymore. It was probably too late to go back to his house, though…

Spain flopped down onto the couch with a sigh, struggling with his dilemma. On the one hand, he could just go home, regardless of the time, although with his sudden exhaustion, driving home could prove reckless. On the other hand, Romano was upstairs, and feeling as he did now, Spain did not really want to be around the Italian, afraid that his heart might give out on him before he did.

The only logical choice seemed to be to sleep right there on the couch. So that's what he did. Or, at least, that's what he _tried_ to do. As he laid his weary self on the couch and closed his eyes, he found it was very _difficult _to get to sleep. He kept thinking of torturous things, like Romano dating someone that wasn't him, laughing with someone that wasn't him, _loving _someone that wasn't him… Spain wanted Romano to be happy, he really did. Just… Spain wished Romano would be happy with _him _and not someone else.

He was so deep in thought, he didn't hear Romano shuffle back downstairs, until the Italian cleared his throat.

"Spain?" Romano called out tentatively, leaning against the wall for support.

The Spaniard sat up to look at him over the edge of the couch, quizzically. He cleared his throat, hoping Romano wouldn't be able to hear his inner turmoil through a trembling tone. "Si, Romano?" he asked.

Romano pushed off the wall and walked around to the couch to stand in front of Spain, while said Spaniard watched him with a puzzled expression replacing his distressed look. Spain opened his mouth, probably to question Romano's actions. Before he could even make a sound, Romano pushed Spain back on the couch, lying on top of him.

"Ti amo," he whispered into Spain's ear.

All words died in his throat. He wasn't sure how to react at first. His heart pounded painfully in his chest at that simple statement. They were the words Spain had been dying to hear for centuries. Now that Romano had actually said them, however, Spain felt uncertainty and paranoia instead of pure bliss at this dream-come-true.

"Romano… Do you know what you're saying?" Spain asked in a hoarse whisper, remembering that the Italian was drunk, at the very least. He was scared that Romano's confession could have been a simple slip of an alcohol-loosened tongue.

Romano laughed, which he wasn't sure if that was a good or bad sign.

"Of course!" he said, putting Spain's fears to rest. "I've always wanted to tell you that, but I just couldn't…" Romano fell silent, his cheeks glowing red in a way not caused by the alcohol.

It was enough for Spain. He smiled gently, wrapping his arms around Romano. "Te amo tambien, Lovi," he said.

Spain kissed the top of Romano's head as the Italian snuggled into his chest. He ran a hand through the younger man's hair, avoiding the curl, more out of habit than anything else. He could feel Romano's face grow hot against his chest, and that worried the Spaniard.

"Are you ok, Lovi? You're not running a fever, are you?" he asked anxiously, pressing a hand against Romano's forehead.

Romano chuckled. "I'm not running a fever, idiota," he said, lifting his head to gaze at Spain. His eyes were filled with a strange tenderness that Spain had never seen before.

The Spaniard's heart throbbed painfully, but not altogether unpleasantly. It was a strange tug-of-war inside of him. "Oh, then what...?"

He stopped as Romano kissed the corner of his mouth. "Oh… Oh!" His eyes widened in sudden realization, making Romano laugh. Spain kissed him full on the lips, braver now that he was assured of Romano's affections. He hugged the Italian tight against him eagerly.

Romano kissed back, wrapping his arms around the Spaniard, who took the opportunity to explore Romano's body. Spain ran his hands down to the small of his back, then back up against. He brushed one hand through the Italian's hair, brushing against Romano's curl this time (probably from his subconscious desire to tug on the enticing little thing).

Romano moaned into the kiss, his blush deepening. Surprisingly enough, the reaction wasn't lost on Spain. He blinked, breaking off the kiss, deciding this would be a great time to ask Romano about the strange little curl that he and Feliciano had, since the Italian was currently being so receptive.

"Say, Lovi, what is this curl?" he asked, twirling the curl around his finger.

Romano bit back his moans, clutching Spain's shirt tight in his fists. Had he not been slightly 'buzzed', he would not have answered the question, but as he was…

"It's an e—erogenous zone," he gasped, the material of Spain's shirt slightly muffling his response as the Italian once again buried his face in Spain's chest.

Spain paused, the curl still wrapped around his finger. That explained a lot. No wonder Romano always got mad when he touched it. He felt slightly guilty, remembering how he always played with the curl (albeit absent-mindedly, without any other intentions) when Romano was little.

Even so, a sly grin spread over his face, and he pushed the guilt away.

"Oh, so it feels good when I do this~?" he breathed into Romano's ear, stroking the curl.

Romano allowed a single moan to escape. He nodded quickly, moving his face to bury it in Spain's neck. "Y—yes," he moaned. "So much."

Spain held back a small squeal of delight. Romano was just so cute all hot and flustered like that~! But as much as he enjoyed watching his tomate squirm in pleasure, he stopped and released the curl. Instead, he moved his hand beneath Romano's chin to gently tilt the Italian's head toward him.

"Te amo, Lovi," he said, and kissed him again.

Romano kissed back passionately, running his fingers through Spain's dark curls. Once again, Spain broke the kiss. He was lightly panting, suddenly very aware of their position.

"Do you mind going up to the bed?" he asked hazily, glancing to the side, and the dangerously small distance they were from the edge of the couch.

Romano glanced over as well. He nodded, standing up and walked backwards towards the stairs. With a smirk, he winked at Spain, who immediately leapt to his feet to follow. A light blush tinged Spain's cheeks. He never knew Romano could be so enticing when he wanted to be. They quickly made their way upstairs, although Spain stumbled over the steps several times as they did.

Since Spain apparently had more trouble navigating the stairs (which is ironic, considering that he was the sober one), Romano made it to the room before him, and was already lying on the bed, legs crossed casually.

He licked his lips when Spain came in. "Oh, hola, España," he said slowly, a sly smirk on his lips.

The use of his native tongue drove Spain mad. He practically tackled Romano on the bed, doing his best not to actually hurt the Italian.

"Oh, Lovi, you look too sexy and _delicious _for your own good," he remarked huskily, kissing Romano on the forehead and both cheeks, momentarily avoiding his mouth.

Romano pouted and looked up at Spain. "I'm not sexy or delicious. I'm Looooovi."

Spain chuckled and kissed Romano on the lips. "You're definitely drunk, mi querido," he said, his thumbs hooked in the waistband of Romano's jeans.

The younger man laughed a bit, burying his face in Spain's neck, planting small kisses there. Spain shivered lightly in delight, but he still wanted more. He tugged a bit at Romano's jeans, tentatively, kissing the top of Romano's head.

"Do you mind, querido?" he asked hesitantly.

Romano shook his head, giving Spain an encouraging grin. Nodding slightly, Spain fumbled with the button of Romano's jeans. He blew on Romano's curl as he did, tugging the jeans down. Romano had to bite back the moans threatening to spill out, his curl twitching and bouncing to reflect his pleasure. He bucked his hips slightly as the jeans came away, revealing a pair of boxers with tomatoes printed all over them.

Spain smiled when he saw the boxers. "You're so cute, Lovi," he said.

He kissed and nipped at the base of Romano's neck, fingering the boxers lightly. Romano tilted his head back, allowing Spain more access and blushing. He sucked at Romano's neck, vaguely hoping to leave a mark (that'll teach everyone to not mess with _his _Lovi), gently tugging down the boxers.

Romano panted, his tongue quickly darting out to slide over his lips. Now that his boxers were gone, he automatically crossed his legs in embarrassment. Spain pulled back slightly, sweeping his eyes over Romano's body hungrily. The undisguised lust in the Spaniard's eyes made Romano shiver lightly.

Even though he wanted no more than to take Romano then and there, Spain cupped Romano's face, looking into the Italian's eyes. "Don't be embarrassed, querido. You're beautiful," he said, giving him another kiss.

Blushing, Romano uncrossed his legs, looking up at Spain. His breath came heavy and fast now, his eyes hazed over with his own lust. Smiling faintly, Spain looked down at himself, and was mildly surprised to find that he was still dressed. Huh, how did that happen? He'd have to fix that.

Spain sat up, straddling Romano. Slowly, he lifted his shirt, inch-by-inch, gazing at Romano the entire time. Romano watched, his eyes widened slightly as more of the Spaniard's evenly toned upper body came into view. He squirmed a little, itching to just tear Spain's shirt off right away, but also unwilling to end the show so quickly. So Spain continued taking off his shirt painfully slow, watching Romano until the shirt came over his face, blocking his view. It was only then that he whipped it off, tossing it to some corner of the room. He smiled down at Romano.

"Do you like what _you _see?" he asked teasingly, mimicking Romano's words from the other night.

Romano nodded quickly. His hands twitched, itching to touch the Spaniard's chiseled chest. Spain noticed, and took up Romano's hands in his own, pressing them to his chest.

"Feel that, querido? It's mi corazón, and it beats only for you. Because I love you. Te amo mucho, Lovi," he said softly, his eyes warm as he gently squeezed Romano's hands.

Romano blushed, eyes filling with tears. He turned his head away, squeezing his eyes shut. "I… Spain, you romantic sap! You're making me cry!"

Spain gently turned Romano's face back to him. He brushed a thumb across Romano's cheek, smiling gently. "Only because I love you, querido, with all mi corazón," he said.

Wiping his tears away, Romano grabbed Spain's face and crashed their lips together, surprising the Spaniard. Spain's eyes widened slightly in surprise, but then he closed them and kissed back, gently biting at Romano's bottom lip. He pressed against the Italian hungrily.

Romano opened his mouth eagerly, wrapping his legs around the Spaniard's hips. Spain's tongue immediately darted inside Romano's mouth, exploring the new area. He struggled to pull his pants and boxers off while he did so. Oh Dios, why did he decide to wear Romano's clothes? They were slightly too small on him and difficult to pull off while you were busy trying to kiss your lover silly.

Romano moaned into the kiss, trying to help with Spain's pants. Between their efforts, Spain finally kicked the pants off, and the boxers soon followed. Vaguely, he remembered wondering about the crotch-tomato, but then Romano's tongue tangled with his, and any questions were violently shoved out of his mind.

They broke apart, panting heavily. Romano's eyes widened as he stared a Spain's crotch. He flushed darkly, his breath quickening.

Spain slid his hands down to Romano's waist. He hesitated. "Are… Are you sure you want to do this, Lovi?" he asked huskily. As much as he didn't want to stop (in fact, it had become painful to wait any longer), he didn't want to hurt Romano even more than that.

Romano looked into Spain's eyes, face flushed but expression serious. "Spain… I've loved you for years… I've been waiting for this…"

That was all he needed to hear. Spain nodded. "Just tell me if I hurt you. Ok?" he said, biting his lip and flushing a bright red of his own. Dios, he felt like an inexperienced girl having sex for the first time with Romano, even though both of them had had sex plenty of times in their long lives.

Romano nodded, pecking Spain on the lips again. Taking a deep breath, Spain positioned himself and slowly entered Romano. His breathing hitched, and he held tightly onto Romano's hips as he pushed himself in. "S—so tight," Spain breathed out as he pushed all the away in.

The Italian clutched at the sheets, gritting his teeth as a rough moan escaped him. Spain let his breath out in a hiss of pleasure. His breathing heavy, he slowly pushed in and out, gradually picking up speed. Romano panted heavily, toes curling in pleasure, a look of pure ecstasy on his face.

Spain moaned. Romano felt so hot, and so good. He threw his head back in pleasure, not sure how much he would be able to take.

Romano cried out as his came, his face flushed a deep, dark red. The sight of Romano, and the way the Italian squeezed down on him, did Spain in. He gave a low moan, pressing deep into Romano as he came as well.

Slowly, Romano's toes unfurled, and he slowly let the sheets out of his death grip. He pulled Spain down and pecked him on the lips just as the Spaniard was still coming down from his orgasm.

"Goodnight, pomodoro bastardo… Ti amo…" And then he fell asleep, exhausted.

Panting, Spain lay on the bed next to Romano, one arm draped over the Italian. He pressed a kiss to Romano's cheek. "Te amo," he whispered, and then fell asleep as well.


	5. Sad Ends, Happy Beginnings

**Hello! Sorry for putting this off for so long, and when I finally do write it, it's the final chapter. The roleplay did go on after this, but it's difficult to get that into the story and contrive a good ending from that. And of course, I had to delete the messages before I could get it all up. Lots of saddness there.**

**Anyway, if enough people ask for it, I suppose I can write an epilogue or sequal, but it will be more my writing that's influenced by the roleplay, rather than an adaptation of the roleplay itself.**

**Thanks again to HipsterMustache for letting me use the roleplay, and I'm really sorry for always dropping roleplays like that. I feel pretty bad.**

**Anyway, hope you enjoyed the story as much as I enjoyed roleplaying it. Feel free to leave a review and tell me what you think of it, whether it's good or bad.**

* * *

><p>Romano woke up with his head pounding and his body aching everywhere. He groaned rubbing his forehead. Dammit, he went and got drunk again. What kind of Italian man was he if he couldn't hold his liquor? The previous night was a blur.<p>

That's when he felt the arm draped over his body.

He gasped, sitting up quickly. A sharp pain shot through his body and he threw himself flat on the bed with a soft cry. "Ouch, dammit, it hurts," he muttered furiously.

All the activity had awoken his companion. "Lovi...?" the other man said groggily.

Romano turned to see Spain lying right next to him, looking back at him sleepily. In bed. The man he loved.

He gasped again in realization, jerking backward and subsequently falling over the side of the bed. He clawed at the sheets, trying to keep himself from crashing to the ground, but only succeeded in pulling them off with him.

"Ouch, merde, merde, merde!" he cried out, rubbing his butt that was way too sore for his liking.

"Lovi? Are you ok?" All of the Italian's shouting and falling off of beds had jerked Spain fully awake. Romano looked up to see the Spaniard right beside him, stark naked.

Suddenly self-conscious, Romano wrapped the sheets tightly around him. He nodded shyly, unable to take his eyes off of Spain. "S—si."

Spain moved closer, taking Romano's burning face in his hands. "Are you sure? Your face is really red, and you were yelling and stuff," he said uncertainly.

Romano hid his face in the sheets. "I'm fine! Stop touching me, bastardo!" he shouted to cover up his embarrassment.

The Spaniard complied, withdrawing his hands. He gazed at Romano, thinking. "Romano? Do you... not remember last night?" he asked.

Romano peeked up at him, shaking his head, feeling ashamed. "No. I... It's all a blur," he admitted.

Spain nodded, trying to not feel hurt that he hadn't left an impression even through Romano's drunk state. "Well, you had been drinking," he said.

Reason wasn't really what Spain was known for. Romano lifted his head to look right at Spain. If he was trying to be reasonable, then he was definitely upset about something. "Spain?"

"Hmm?"

"Did I...? Did we...?" Romano blushed heavily just thinking about it. "Um, you know..."

Surprisingly, Spain understood what Romano was trying to get at. He nodded. "Yes, we did."

Romano wasn't sure what to say. He nodded, looking down.

"Do you... regret it?" Spain asked after a minute of silence.

He shook his head vigorously. "Not at all! I mean, I don't remember it, but I... I... Ti amo," he said.

Spain pulled Romano into a crushing hug. "Oh, Lovi, te amo mucho!"

"Owowow! That hurts idiota!" he cried out.

The Spaniard immediately released him, grinning sheepishly. "Sorry, Lovi. You're just so adorable, and I'm so happy that you finally said that when you were sober and not drunk," he said,

Romano huffed, crossing his arms. "I'm not adorable," he said.

Spain wore a lopsided smile. "Cute like a tomatito," he replied.

They lapsed into silence, Romano deciding to let the subject drop. If he learned anything about Spain over the centuries, then it was that Spain wouldn't give up the idea that Romano was "cute" instead of the awesomely handsome Italian man that he obviously was. Obviously.

Romano was the first to speak. "So, um, was it good?" he asked, too nervous to look Spain in the eyes.

When Spain didn't say anything, Romano felt his stomach tie in a knot. Was it seriously that bad? But when he finally gathered the courage to look directly at the other man, he saw that it was quite the opposite.

Spain's face was a bright red, and he looked positively speechless. When Romano looked at him, he quickly turned his face, apparently just as embarrassed of making eye contact as Romano was.

The Italian grinned, pleased with Spain's reaction. "That good?" he asked teasingly.

Still unable to speak, all Spain could do was nod mutely, amusing the shorter man. Romano shrugged off the sheet and crawled into the Spaniard's lap, draping his arms lightly over Spain's shoulders.

"Ti amo, 'Tonio," he whispered to the flustered man, also lightly blushing.

Automatically, Spain's arms wrapped around the naked Italian's waist, pulling Romano closer to him. "Ti amo, Lovi," he replied, leaning his head against his lover's shoulder.

Romano's blush darkened. The difference was slight, but he still noticed. "…Italian?" Somehow it seemed so much more intimate for Spain to use his and Veneziano's native tongue instead of Spanish.

Spain pressed his lips to Romano's neck. "Just returning the favor from last night, querido," he murmured into the skin.

Romano shivered from Spain's hot breath on his sensitive skin. "I did that?" he breathed.

"Si."

"Oh." He didn't know what else to say, other than return with "Te amo, 'Tonio."

For whatever reason, the response caused a tremor to run through Spain's body. Romano felt it, his own lithe body pressed against the Spaniard's muscular form. Heat bloomed in the pit of his gut, slowly creeping south. Romano bit his lip, feeling himself grow hot.

It wasn't just Romano feeling the heat. Spain's mouth was slightly ajar, and Romano could feel the man's breath grow heavy on his skin.

"Oi, 'Tonio," Romano said, unable to keep the lustful tone from his voice.

"Yes, querido?" Spain replied, unconsciously pressing his hips hard against Romano. And the pressure wasn't the only thing that was hard.

Romano backed away from Spain enough to run his hands down the strong, bare chest in front of him, stopping just at Spain's hips. He looked down, unable to see Spain's erection from where he sat. Although he certainly felt it. The anticipation was killing him. He didn't even care that he was still sore from the previous night.

"Why don't you demonstrate what we did last night? Maybe it'll jog my memory," he suggested.

Spain sucked in breath. Hearing his little Lovi suggest something, sober, was almost too much to bear. He couldn't even find the words to reply. So he didn't try. Instead, he crushed his lips against Romano's in answer.

Romano returned the kiss, just as enthusiastic, just as needy, like if they pressed against each other hard enough, they would melt into the other.

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><p>A few weeks later, Romano woke up before the sun had even poked the first rays of light over the horizon. He felt absolutely rotten. A quick glance at the clock told him it was only 3:14 in the morning.<p>

With a groan, he threw an arm over his eyes. Too fucking early.

Next to him, Spain slept soundly, oblivious to the nausea building up in his lover's throat. And Romano intended to keep it that way. He loved Antonio and all, but every time he was sick, the Spaniard was absolutely unbearable with how hard he tried to take care of his "poor little tomatito". It was annoying.

Not the fact that Spain cared, though! That was… pretty sweet and thoughtful of him, actually. And Romano loved to be pampered from time to time. Spain's get-well cooking was the best, almost as good as genuine Italian food (although Italian food was basically from the heavens, so that wasn't really a fair comparison).

It was just that he felt smothered by the worried man.

Suddenly his stomach lurched dangerously. Romano flew out of bed and threw himself in the bathroom, slamming the door shut. He dropped down at the toilet just in time as he was sick.

Back in the bedroom, the sound of the bathroom door slamming closed woke up Spain. He rubbed his eyes. "Lovi?" he called softly.

There was no answer.

Spain opened his eyes to find Romano's side of the bed empty, blankets rumpled and thrown back over Spain as if Romano rushed out of bed. Odd, usually his little Lovi slept like the dead, unable to be woken up until the sun was high in the sky. And from the looks of it, the sun was definitely not there yet.

He slowly pulled himself out of bed. The air conditioned house chilled his bare chest. Spain wrapped his arms around himself as he shuffled into the hall. It was times like these where he wished Romano would let him get a nice fluffy bathrobe. The Italian always refused to allow him one, however, saying that was "the most gay ass thing that any sensible Italian or Spanish man could do, suitable only for girly Frenchmen and Englishmen, and maybe Americans, too, because they are retarded like that".

Spain always thought it weird that Romano used "gay" as an insult. He was pretty sure the two of them were gay… But he never said anything. Romano was Italian, and pride and a fashion sense ran strong in his blood. So it was best to just let him do what he wanted.

There was the sound of retching coming from the bathroom. Spain froze outside the door. Lovi was sick? Why hadn't he said anything?

Tentatively, he reached out and lightly knocked on the door.

Inside the bathroom, the knock made Romano freeze, still poised over the toilet in case of emergency.

"Lovi? Are you ok in there?" Spain's muffled voice carried through the bathroom door.

Romano coughed, clearing his throat so that when he spoke, it wouldn't sound raspy or sick. "Yes, I'm fine. Just not feeling too well," he said. The strangest thing was; that was actually a lie. Now that he'd emptied out his stomach, the nausea had passed and he didn't feel the least bit sick. He bit his lip. Hadn't Hungary described this exact feeling to him and Veneziano, not too long ago when she and Austria had a child?

Wasn't this exactly like morning sickness?

But no, that couldn't be right. He was definitely a male country. Or rather half-country, but that was irrelevant! Either way, he was a man, and men didn't get pregnant!

Well, normal men didn't… As a country personification, he wasn't exactly normal. So, could it be possible?

There was only one way to know for sure.

Spain knocked on the door again, making Romano jump. "What is it, bastardo?" he demanded.

"Did I scare you, Lovi?" The Spaniard sounded amused.

Romano flushed, embarrassed. "No way! I never get scared! Now what do you want?" he demanded, crossing his arms even though Spain couldn't see it through the bathroom door.

There was a deep, rich chuckle before Spain replied. "Well, you said you weren't feeling well, so I made you a cup of tea with honey in it," he said.

Romano huffed, trying to act indifferent about the act of kindness. "Why tea? That's a pansy thing only England and China would drink," he protested, even though he loved the drink to death, especially when he felt under the weather. He'd never admit to it, however, and Spain knew this.

"Awww, come on, Lovi~. Drink it for me~?" Spain pleaded.

Romano opened the bathroom, cheeks puffed out in feigned indignation that didn't fool anybody. "Well, if you're going to go and grovel like that, then I guess it's my duty as a good boyfriend to just go ahead and drink it," he said, trying and failing to inject reluctance in his voice, instead sounding excited to have the hot drink made especially for him by Spain.

Spain smiled that charming smile of his that gave Romano shivers. "Gracias, Lovi~!" he said, playing along and actually succeeding in sounding grateful. He was a much better actor than Romano, which, again, the Italian would never admit.

Taking the steaming mug in his hands, Romano felt a warm glow of appreciation for his ever-patient, ever-loving boyfriend.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Romano shook Spain awake. The man awoke reluctantly, moaning and mumbling complaints the entire time. Romano showed no mercy, using his head to wake Spain—literally.<p>

"Oof!" Spain doubled over, clutching at his stomach, which was now in pain from the vicious head-butt that Romano gave him.

At least he was awake.

"I need you to take me to the store," Romano said, crossing his arms.

Spain sighed. "You need me to take you _now_? You couldn't wait until… I don't know, a little later?" he asked.

Romano shook his head. "No, it has to be now."

"Ok, ok, fine. Let me just get ready and I'll drive you over there," Spain said, dragging himself out of bed to do so.

Romano nodded. "Ok, I'll wait out in the car," he said, and left the room before Spain could reply.

Just a few minutes later, Spain joined him in the car and they were on their way. Ever since Romano nearly got them killed on their first official date, ("I did not almost crash! All Italians drive at least 90 miles an hour at all times. Any less isn't proper for a proud Italian man.") Spain kept the keys hidden away from the reckless driver. Thus, any time Romano wanted to go somewhere too far to walk, Spain would have to take him.

"What's so important that you need to go to the store immediately for?" Spain asked as they pulled into the parking lot.

Romano had been staring out the window, wrapped up in all kinds of anxious thoughts. "Hmm? Oh, a preg—shampoo! A bottle of shampoo!" he caught himself quickly. He'd nearly told Spain that he was going to buy a pregnancy test. That would be embarrassing!

Spain furrowed his eyebrows, confused. "Preg-shampoo? Is that some kind of Italian brand?" he asked.

Romano stared at the Spaniard in disbelief. Seriously? Any normal person would understand that he'd been about to say pregnancy test, or something having to do with pregnancy. Apparently not his oblivious lover. Of course.

"Yes, it's an Italian brand," he said, jumping out of the car the moment Spain stopped. "Now wait here, I'll be right back!"

With that, Romano rushed inside before Spain could even protest, leaving the man feeling awfully confused. His little Lovi was acting so strange today.

After a couple songs on the radio, Romano finally emerged from the store. Spain smiled at him, somewhat bemused. "Find your shampoo alright?" he asked.

For a few seconds, Romano just stared at him, looking confused, which puzzled Spain anymore. Then realization dawned on his face. He nodded. "Ah, yes, found it."

Yes, there was definitely something strange about Romano—wrong even. Spain's heart twisted at the thought that there was something that his love wouldn't (or couldn't) tell him. Still, he hoped his Lovi would eventually come out with it, like he had eventually told Spain that he was in love with him, after a lot of heartache and pain on both sides. So he'd have to be patient and wait.

When they got back to the house—Romano and Italy's house, since Spain never saw the point in moving back to his own—Romano bolted out of the car and into the house. Spain frowned as he turned the car off and just sat inside for a while. Either his Lovi was very enthusiastic about trying out his fancy Italian shampoo, or something was going on here. And Spain may be oblivious at times, but he wasn't stupid. There was most likely something going on.

So Spain turned took his time climbing out of the car and going inside, letting Romano finish up what he presumed to be a shower (not that he heard or saw Romano taking one; he didn't want to know the truth). After a while of dawdling and wasting time downstairs, he finally climbed up the stairs to knock on the bathroom door.

"Lovi, how is the Preg-shampoo?" he called in.

"G—good!" Romano called back out, his voice trembling. That worried Spain. What was so wrong that Romano felt the need to cover it up?

"Ah, that's good. Do you want me to make some lunch?" Spain asked. The least he could do was make a nice, hot meal.

"S—si! Just tomato soup, please."

Now Spain's frown really deepened. Weird, Romano not wanted to eat pasta _and_ being polite. "Of course. I'll be right up once it's done."

Romano listened to the sound of Spain's steps fade down the stairs. He let out a shaky breath, leaning against the bathroom counter for support. The pregnancy test strip was in his hand, the little red plus glaring up at him. It couldn't be possible, but it happened. He, the male half-country, Italy Romano, was pregnant.

He deposited the test into the trash can and went back to his room. Sitting on the bed, he grabbed the phone and dialed the number of Germany's house.

"Hello?" the gruff voice that Romano despised so much answered.

"Put Veneziano on please," he said quietly, not in the mood for insults.

Germany picked up on this immediately. "Romano? Are you alright?" he asked. Romano could hear the suspicious frown in the German's voice.

"Veneziano," Romano repeated, feeling numb all over.

There was a shifting of papers and a creak of a bed. Away from the receiver, a pair of voices talked about something, probably Romano's call and odd mood. Then Italy's voice came through the speaker, excitable and worried as always.

"Ve? Lovi? What's wrong? Are you ok? Luddy says you didn't even try to insult him at all. Are you sick? What's the matter?"

"I'm pregnant."

The silence was heavy. Germany had heard the proclamation, because from farther away, Romano heard his voice say, "impossible". It was weird to not hear Veneziano's chatter.

"Wh—what, Lovi? Are you sure? I thought only girls can get pregnant, and you're a boy, I know because you're my fratello and if you were a girl, you'd be my sorella instead. Are you sure, Lovi?" the stream of words finally came, albeit delayed.

"Feliciano! I _know_ I'm a man. But I took a pregnancy test, and it's _positive_! I'm PREGNANT, Feli!" he shouted, semi-hysterical by the end.

Behind him, there was the sound of metal crashing to the ground and glass breaking. Romano gasped, whipping around to see Spain standing in the door way, staring at him with wide eyes, a tray of broken dishes and spilled soup at his feet.

"Lovi…"

"Lovi, what happened? That was loud. Are you ok?" Feliciano was tittering along.

"I'll… I'll have to call you back, Feli," Romano say, hanging up the phone.

Spain stepped around the fallen tray. Romano didn't look at him as the Spaniard got closer and sat on the bed beside him. He even flinched when Spain gently took his hands.

"Lovi, you're pregnant?" Spain asked, rubbing his thumbs across Romano's knuckles.

Romano looked down at his lap. He nodded. "Si," he replied in a tiny voice.

A pause. "Why didn't you tell me?"

How could he have told Spain something like this? "Because… Because men aren't supposed to get pregnant. It's freakish. I'm freakish. There's no way you can love someone like me!" Romano cried, jerking his hands out of Spain's grasp, hiding his face behind them.

Spain wrapped his arms around Romano. "Lovi, there's no way that I couldn't love you. You're my tomatito. You're my love. And if we get to have children together, then that's just wonderful," he said.

Romano peeked up at him from behind his hands. "Really?"

Spain stroked the back of his head, smiling gently. "Of course, querido. Ti amo."

The Italian gave a tiny smile back. "Te amo."

It was a relief that Spain still accepted him. Romano didn't think he'd have been able to take it if Spain didn't. And a child… With his love… The thought was somehow appealing. Ok, not just somehow. It was very appealing.

Perhaps… Perhaps everything would be alright after all.


End file.
